A version of the stockholm syndrome
by Ajlin
Summary: Shaun hates Desmond because of many reasons, but mostly he hates him because he can't fully hate him with every fiber of his body. Desmond, doesn't care about what Shaun thinks, but then why can't he seem to let his words go? MxM violence strong language


_AN: so yeah my first Assassin's Creed FanFic! I really love these two games andShaun is like my favourite character from the second game, I love hi comments, they make me laugh! If I could marry (King) Danny Wallace I would^^ **oh and warning!!! MalexMale rated m for violence and language.**  
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_Anyways this is really crappy, but it was written in the middle of the night so have sympathy with me. It's also a lot fluffier than the stuff I usually write. Lack of sleep makes Shaun grumpy and me fluffy;) Hope you enjoy it anyways! (oh and as always, sorry for grammar mistakes, english is not my first lanugage. The reason I write this here on all of my stories is that so you won't get equally annoyed with me if there are like... rookie mistakes^^ )_

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"Shaun, Desmond is having trouble with the truth file. It's one of those code systems again." Rebecca said to the historian. Normally, he would already have noticed, since he watched Miles go through Ezio's memories just as closely as Rebecca and Lucy did, but right at that moment he had researched some of the places where, according to the map Desmond had achieved through Altair, the pieces of Eden might be. Shaun found that more often than not Desmond actually understood the riddles and codes without his help so he had thought that he could lend his knowledge to the assassin's out on the field in present time, actually doing some real work, while the young novice worked out the riddle but apparently not. Apparently he had to help Desmond solve a system of numbers that he thought was useless even doing. They were wasting their time on subject sixteen's delusional messages, but Lucy insisted that they would keep doing it, so he kept his mouth shut, mostly and helped in the best way he could.

So at this statement from Rebecca, Shaun tabbed his other research away and got a clear picture of what Miles was seeing on his screen. Watching the code, his brows furrowed. He was not surprised that Desmond did not get this; it was a quite complicated code involving foreign, old signs. He recognized them, sure, but he would need some time to work out the how they fitted together with the regular numbers. More time going to waste, more people dying and he was forced to sit here together with Rebecca and Lucy, laying all his trust on that this brat, "subject seventeen", would save them all by delivering the information they needed before the Templers found them. Which, in this pace, was highly unlikely.

He sighed and shook his head before turning to his team.

"Might as well bring you out for a while, Miles. This could take a while." His words were directed to Desmond but they were intended to Rebecca also who nodded and started to desynchronize Miles. It did not take long until the young man's eyelids started to blink and he stretched out his arms and legs.  
Shaun frowned and turned to the computer again. He had not slept for days, working with Desmond and Ezio during the days and trying to be useful to his colleagues in the field during the night. And hearing, nearly every night, about the loss of one or a couple of his friends was not making his work easier. Not being able to deal with his feelings but to just keep working like some sort of robot, he was just detached from everything and lashing out at everyone, more than usual.

He hated everyone, he hated Lucy for wasting his time on subject sixteen, he hated Rebecca for seeming so carefree, he hated himself for feeling so utterly useless behind his computer but most of all he hated Desmond. He hated Desmond because he was the only one in that room doing something that helped their cause. He hated him because it wasn't Shaun that was doing it; he was useless while this mere novice was out there doing all the work, saving Shaun's friends. He hated him because Desmond did not even seem to grasp the importance of what they were doing, of what was happening out there in real life. He was living in this bubble while Shaun was falling apart under the pressure of work, worry and the sadness of all the people dying out there. But he also hated Desmond because he seemed to not be quite able to _fully _hate him with every fiber of his body. He would throw snide comments at him, undermine him and be a complete asshole towards him just to find himself worried when he saw Desmond experiencing the bleeding effect, and for short seconds stop to look at something that only clearly he could see. It was driving him crazy; he could just not understand why he felt that way.

"Hey, Shaun maybe you should rest a while too? Get a couple of hours sleep?" Lucy's voice was worried, probably having noticed the dark pouches under his eyes and the rude comments being at a maximum these last few days.

"I'm fine, Lucy." He answered and tried to concentrate on the symbols on his screen, but the many other things on his mind made them float around, not letting him focus on them. Still, he had to keep going, time was short.

"Okay, well I and Rebecca will go and prepare some dinner then." Shaun could hear a trail of worry still being there but Lucy left with Rebecca none the less, giving him one last anxious look that he did not notice, to busy trying to focus on his task.

Desmond flopped down in an armchair, beside the historian, that had been placed there for Shaun's five minutes breaks he took at nights when he felt that his brain went too gooey forhim to be able to work anything out. He would then sit down, close his eyes for a short moment, collect his thoughts and then get back to work. That was all the rest he was allowing himself to get.

Shaun could feel however that the young assassin's eyes were not closed, getting any rest, nor where they on the screen trying to work out what he was trying to work out at this moment. No, those dark eyes were on him, watching closely. It was distracting the historian whom, because of the lack of sleep, had problems concentrating even without a brat staring silently at him. Shaun could feel the irritation rising and could not have stopped himself, even if he wanted to, before harsh words flew out of his mouth.

"Was there something in particular you wanted, Desmond?" Shaun's expression was irritated and the furrow in his brows deepened when Miles made no sign of reacting to the harshness in his voice. No, he just sat there and stared silently at him for a long while until he slowly opened his mouth.

"You look like shit." If it was possible, Shaun's scowl turned even worse.

"Well, excuse me for not fitting in to your beauty ideals." He muttered before turning to the computer screen again.

"No, Shaun, I didn't mean it like that! I just meant that you should listen to Lucy! You should get some real sleep, in a real bed, instead of typing away here 24 hours a day. You are going to kill yourself if you keep this up." Desmond had rose and was now standing right beside Shaun, the same worried expression on his face that Lucy had worn earlier.

But Shaun's reaction to it was much worse. There it was again! The ignorance of the importance of the mission! Shaun's hands started to shake with aggravation and the frustration of both Desmond making him lose precious time and not being able to make any sense out of the numbers in front of him. He should be able to do it! He knew he could do it if he could just rest for a bit. But he could not do that and the knowledge of that he both did not have the time to sleep but was also useless in this state of mind was unbearable and he needed to vent his frustration in some way. And there he was, a perfect way to do it. The idiot who just did not care. How could he have been able to resist when Desmond was more or less handing him it on a silver platter? This, of course was not true, the younger assassin was just trying to look out for him. But the sleep deprivation, frustration and worry made it impossible for Shaun to see that. All he saw was this ignorant kid who kept wasting his time.

So Shaun flew up from his chair in the blink if an eye, actually managing to startle the other assassin to back away half a step. The look in those eyes, they were practically mad and Desmond could have sworn that he was going to get socked in the face, but no fists came flowing, but the words that did was equally painful.

"You ignorant, useless little twat! There are people out there dying, risking their life for this world, for us! While we're here, in safety, watching and analyzing your every, fucking twitch! They die every day! People I've known for years are dying every day! Do you honestly believe that I have time to do something like sleeping then? Huh? They need me, us! Every time I am not babysitting your ass I need to aid them in every way that I can. But you don't seem to comprehend that! No, you get in the animus, seeming to think that this is a game, learning these skills of Ezio's, is a fucking game! And when you get out you smile, and you laugh and you make jokes, completely ignorant of how many lives depend on whether you succeed or not! If I were in your shoes I would be in that animus day and night, speeding this up, doing everything I could. But instead I am stuck here, behind this desk, looking up information, and you don't even understand, you don't even care, do you, Desmond? Do you care?" Shaun's nostrils were flaring and hands were shaking and yet Desmond just stood there, looking shocked, completely confused by the other man's reaction to his worry. He had got his share of Shaun's snide comments, more than Lucy and Rebecca actually, but he had never, ever spoken to him like this. There was hate in his voice, hate that hurt a lot more than Desmond was prepared for. He had always thought that the historian was grumpy to everyone but the thought of him actually not liking him hurt in a way that he could not explain.

It took several of moments before Desmond could compose himself enough to answer the older man.

"Hey, getting yourself killed by lack of sleep won't help anyone." He tried to reason, tried to not get provoked by Shaun or giving the hateful tone another thought. He knew the man was under a lot of pressure, that he did not really mean it, he hoped anyway.

"If they are out their risking their life, the least I can do is the same. The least you should do is the same. Or have you already forgotten about those who died in Abstergo, trying to free you?" That was a blow below the belt. Desmond had mourned those who died that day. Felt terrible and guilty and Shaun had the stomach to say that he did not care. Desmond's hands tensed into fists as he restrained from punching the other in the face, violence would not help to convince Shaun that he did his best; that his way of being able to keep working was detaching himself from what happened in the animus during the brief moments he was in the real world. Why did he allow himself to let the historian get to him, why was it only him that could get to him? Why did he care what anyone thought, what he thought? He knew that he was doing all that was in his might to do but when he was being accused of not caring, by Shaun… he was so close to losing it in the same way the historian had done moments earlier.

The older assassin could see the impression that comment had made on the other and it felt so good. To let all the hate and frustration that he was feeling towards Desmond out. The tension was thick in the room, both assassins staring at each other. Shaun's eyes were furious while Desmond's showed that he was trying his best to compose himself, to not lash out, but the snarl he was making gave away just how angry he was and in that exact moment Rebecca walked in.

"Guys, dinner's ready." She exclaimed and then noticed the body language of the men in front of her. They reminded her of two lions, fighting about the alpha title, just before one of them took the first blow. But, still, the blow never came. Desmond turned around without a word and walked past Rebecca who gave Shaun a questioning gaze, but he did not answer her wonders. Instead he flopped down in his chair again, muttering that he would eat later.

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A week had passed since the fight and the two of them had not talked a word that was not absolutely required for them to each other. The venting had actually helped Shaun to concentrate and he had solved the code only fifteen minutes after Desmond had left the room, but the cost of it had been the younger not even earning him a glance. Not that he cared, but it seemed that he had really offended the novice, and though it had felt great at first, he now realized what a horrible thing he actually had said to Des. And he could not totally deny that he missed their small historical conversations they tended to have in Desmond's breaks, now the younger would pretend that he was not even there and Shaun would return the favor. He supposed he only had himself to blame though; he had practically accused Des of not caring about people's lives and he knew that he did.

Shaun had felt that Desmond was ignorant and kind of stupid, but not heartless. He knew that he was not heartless, he had seen how killing people through Ezio affected him, how he would be distant and gloomy for hours. And while this irritated him because it told Shaun that Desmond was not seeing the bigger picture, it also told him that he was human, and a rookie that was in way over his head. When Shaun had done his first mission, his first kill, he had felt awful, disgusting for weeks before he had been able to get over it and see the reason behind the death of his victim. And even though Desmond had not killed anyone by himself, the ones he did through Altaïr and Ezio must have felt equally real, and Des did not get the luxury of coping with what he was doing, to analyze and think about it that novices usually got.

He thought about apologizing but then changed his mind; he was all too stubborn to admit that he was wrong to anyone. Besides, he did not actually care what Desmond was feeling or thinking about him so why should he apologize? That was at least what he was trying to tell himself to be able to ignore the gnawing guilt in his stomach.  
The abandoned warehouse was quiet, Shaun being the only one still awake. This past week, Lucy had actually forced him to bed to sleep 4 hours each night, being tired of his grumpy attitude and saying that this fight with Desmond was the last drop for her. He would start sleeping or she would kick him of the project, so Shaun, most reluctant, did as he was told, but still stayed up much later than all of the others, not going to bed until two in the night and then waking up at six.

At this moment the clock was about half past one in the morning and Shaun was working on a way to get in to a temple when he suddenly heard a noise from the hall and his attention was torn away from the screen. Shaun listened intently but heard nothing more so he went back to work but less than five minutes later he heard it again but it now seemed a little more distant. Could it be that the Templers had found them? If that was the case he needed to warn everybody! Shaun was halfway out the door, in total panic, when his assassin training hit him. He should check out the number of the enemies before he did anything else, and which ways out that were out of question. He took a deep breath, calming himself, before he walked through the corridor that lead to the warehouse with light feet, careful not to make any sounds. No lights were lit but his eyes had gotten used to the darkness and he was able to make his way out to the staircase without any trouble.

Carefully he crouched at the top of it and looked down in the big storage room that was only lit by the moonlight shining in through the windows, but to his surprise, there was no one there. When he could not spot anyone he started to listen after the sound again, but nothing could be heard. Shaun started to wonder if it was the lack of sleep messing with his head; maybe he really should get a whole night's sleep, when suddenly an arm came around his back, a hand landing on his mouth and a knife was pressed hard at his throat.  
A stream of Arabic words flew out of his assaulter's mouth in a voice that was most familiar to the historian. It was Desmond. Shaun tried to talk to him, to call out to him, but Des' hand over his mouth muffled anything he was trying to get across.

Shaun felt a small drop of blood run down his neck as he tried to keep his head cool. Desmond clearly did not know what he was doing at the moment; it was the bleeding effect and he was in Altaïr's mind and he probably though that Shaun was a templar.

Desmond dropped the hand that was covering the other's mouth and then slammed him up against a wall so that the older was facing him. It was a scary sight Shaun took in, Desmond's eyes were foggy, distant and they did not really focus on him but stared through him instead. He spoke again, but now in Italian, clearly wanting Shaun to answer and when he did not, he pressed the knife harder against his throat.

"Desmond! For fuck's sake, Desmond! Listen to me!" Shaun coaxed up, quite smothered by the knife, and suddenly the young assassin was back, eyes clear but confused. He quickly took a step back and dropped the knife.

"Shaun… what… how?" he asked while Shaun's legs stopped supporting him and he sunk down against the wall.

"The bleeding effect." He simply answered. "But you should not be getting it this bad; we are following the safety procedures with you…" Shaun was truly puzzled to why this had happened; it was just like subject sixteen. He looked up and met Desmond's gaze. The novice's eyes were wide, scared and confused.

"I thought…I thought you were a guard, I looked for the Spaniard. Ezio, he… I was moments away from slitting your throat." Both Miles' voice and hands were trembling and Shaun suddenly felt a small tug of empathy for the man, it was the first time he had seen Desmond so truly worried. He rose and put a hand on the other's shoulder, awkwardly trying to comfort the novice.

"Hey, it's fine, mate. Nothing happened." Desmond's eyes met his for a moment but then dropped lower to the historian's throat.

"You're bleeding." He gasped and hesitantly lifted a hand to touch the wound but then let it drop again. Shaun had forgotten about the wound on his neck, being too occupied with feeling relief that he was still alive, but reminded of it he frowned a little but withheld from calling the other an idiot, he clearly felt bad enough as it was.

"It's just a scratch, come on. Let's get back." he dismissed Des' comment and started to walk back towards the work room where Desmond's bed also happened to be. Shaun was going to have to figure out why the bleeding effect was happening to Desmond, but asking the other questions now in the middle of the night did not feel like a thing he would like to do nor seemed like a smart idea seeing how shaken Miles seemed to be. No, waiting until the next morning and hoping that Desmond would get a couple of hours sleep to help him calm down seemed much more logical.

But just as they walked through the door Desmond's step came to a halt and he suddenly gripped the other assassin's arm hard.

"Oh, what is it now, Miles?" Shaun turned to the other man, a little annoyed but his expression quickly changed as he saw Desmond's eyes. They were clearly not focusing again, seeing things that Shaun did not, but he seemed to be aware that he was still in real life and not in the animus.

"Shaun, I am seeing things. Templers, people dying; women, children." His voice was frightened and Shaun started to get really worried, this was not normal. Subject sixteen had not gotten hallucinations this close to each other until he had been exposed to the animus for months, being in there for days and even then he did not have them this often until the end when he was at his worst.

"Hey, Desmond. Look at me, try to focus on me." The Brit gripped Miles face and forced his head to look at his direction.

"What the fuck is happening, Shaun?" Desmond was clearly trying to get a grip of the reality but seeming to fail, his eyes looking past, beside, above and under Shaun. His voice was frightened and for the first time since Shaun had first met Desmond he felt with the other, felt the pain he had carried without the historian noticing.

"It's just hallucinations; they will pass, look at me." Shaun tried to reassure but he was not so sure himself. This was what he knew about the bleeding effect in the first stage but that also said "brief blinks of ancestors' memories while being conscious of the reality" and nothing about completely being consumed by it like Desmond had been earlier.  
They stood like that for several minutes, Shaun whispering soothing words between insults and curses, he could not help it; his worry turned into some mix between irritation, anger and anxiety. And the fact that he was actually worried about the novice again made him even angrier, but he told himself that he was just worried for the sake of their cause and ignored the slight panic he felt.

Finally, Desmond's eyes focused again and met Shaun's, not until then did the historian let go of the other's face and relaxed.

"What year is it and what's your name?" he asked to make sure that he had not gone delusional as subject sixteen had done.

"2010, Desmond Miles." The reply came quietly and it seemed that Desmond was about to faint on him. Shaun carefully led him to his armchair; that still was placed beside the computer even though he actually slept in a bed nowadays, and sat him down before he also sat down in his regular chair across from the young assassin.

"I can't understand this, it should not be happening. How long have you had them?" Shaun asked and Desmond looked up to meet his gaze.

"A couple of weeks, but never for this long and never… quite so lost." He replied quietly and looked like he had just seen a ghost. The novice was pale and sweat lingered on his forehead, but he kept himself conscious. Shaun shook his head. What he was describing was the normal side effects of being exposed at a normal amount of time of the animus. Of course, it could be that Desmond was just more sensitive to the animus than the other subjects, but that seemed highly unlikely. If that was the case, he would have started to get the side effects a lot sooner than he actually had. Suddenly it hit him; Desmond had not started to develop these severe hallucinations until just recently… And Shaun had not started to sleep again until just recently, leaving the possibility that…

"Have you been in the animus during the nights?" Shaun's voice was controlled but Desmond's dark eyes still shot up, frightened like a deer caught in headlights.

"Only during a couple of hours, during the time you were sleeping and…" Shaun cut him off, he could not believe he was hearing this, just when he started to warm up a little to the other he learns that he had been risking the operation by putting himself in danger, they could not afford to lose another subject.

"Are you mad? You know what happened to sixteen! We told you, you saw the freaking blood on the walls! Why would you do that? Or is it really true what I said? You just do not care?!" This time Desmond shot up from his chair instead of Shaun, but this fight would not go without physical violence, it took only half a second before his fist had landed on Shaun's chin successfully throwing him of the chair. Shaun did not even have time to really comprehend what had happened before Desmond was straddling him and the next fist hit him over the eye.

"Don't ever, fucking say that again!" Desmond snarled and was about to hit the historian again, but this time Shaun was able to block it and throw the novice of himself, reversing their positions and nailing Desmond's arms to the ground by putting all of his bodyweight on the other's wrists.

"Calm down, you jackass! What am I supposed to think when you time after time keep doing these things? Am I supposed to think that 'oh, poor baby novice, of course he has to get to slip up and play a little?' Well I got a newsflash for you 'baby novice' we don't have fucking time to slip up okay! Do you understand what could happen if we lose you?" Shaun shouted back.

"You were the one who told me you would be in there day and night! I'm just trying to do what I can! You told me the least I could do was put my life on the risk, well that's what I am doing, okay?" Shaun was speechless; of course he had not meant that, it was a stupid thing that slipped his mouth in the heat of the moment. The most important task Lucy, he and Rebecca had was keeping Desmond alive, surely Des' knew that. Surely he must have known that he did not want the younger assassin's life to be put on the line, surely he knew that this hate he showed Desmond was only frustration. Okay, he annoyed the shit out of him, but so did Rebecca and Lucy, the only reason he was worse towards the younger man was because he was the only one who had the power to stop this, had the power that Shaun lacked.

But clearly he did not know, clearly Desmond had taken his words literary, but why in God's name would he listen to anything Shaun ever said? He had been nothing but horrible to the other man since he first walked in through the door!

"And may I ask why you would listen to me in the first place?" Desmond seemed shocked by the question and for a short minute his eyes reflected that feeling until they went back to their glaring.

"You're a more experienced assassin; shouldn't I do what you tell me to?" Desmond's voice was full of poisonous venom but at this Shaun just laughed coldly.

"Yeah, right. Which Lucy and Rebecca also are, both of them telling you it's dangerous to be inside the animus for too long so spit it out, why would you listen to me in the first place?"  
They stared at each other for a while, Desmond seeming to try to find the right words but failing, so he settled with holding the glare intact. Shaun was still straddling Desmond, hands around his wrists, nailing the younger to the ground and the whole position started to feel more awkward as Shaun calmed down, but with Desmond looking at him like that, he did not quite dare to let him go, afraid of being punched in the face again.

"Oh, would you just answer so that I can get to work?" Shaun finally snapped and Desmond looked away, like a stubborn child. Refusing to face the historian but still complied his wish and answered.

"Maybe I care about what you think." He mumbled a slight shed of pink, humiliation covering his cheeks. Shaun could not understand why, but he finally let go of the younger assassin and sat up with a disbelieving expression across his face.

"And why in God's name would you do that?" Shaun stared at Desmond who lay on the ground, still beneath the older man, and stared back at him.

"You really do not know?" He finally asked, Shaun did not answer but merely gave him an irritated expression that said 'Do you think I can read minds, Miles? Because if I could then I would clearly be needed elsewhere than here.' Or well, that was what Desmond at least figured it meant, it was not Shaun if it was not sarcastic.  
Without another word Desmond gripped the collar of the historian and pulled him down to a rough kiss. It was more lips crashing than a kiss, but it got Des' point across and when he, moments later, let him go, Shaun was once more bent over the younger one, inches from his face, staring at him with a dumbfounded look. And Desmond thought for a mere second that he had actually made the ever sarcastic man speechless, but then the historian opened his mouth.

"Really? You really are a jackass! Who falls in love with people who are horrible to them?" Shaun asked but Desmond noticed that he did not back of or pull away; he actually came closer until their lips nearly met again.

"Some kind of version of the Stockholm syndrome I would assume." Desmond quietly whispered and with another mumbled 'jackass' Shaun brought their lips fully together again.

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_AN: aaaaaaaw fluff ending! It's not really my thing... usually. I am really split in my opinion of this, half of me like it, half of me does not. And if you think "What the fuck? how did it come to that?" then my answer is; I was really tired... and there are hints, I just did not want to make it TOO obvious. They are in denial okay! haha^^ With "a version of the stockholm syndrome" I meant that Desmond falls in love with a person that is mean and rude to him ( I am not in any way saying that this is what the stockholm syndrome is), while in the "real syndrome" it's hostages expressing positive feelings towards their kidnappers.  
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_Love to all of you!!! love Ajlin!_


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